


Crossed Wires

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1651397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a note on his kitchen table, next to the pot of  still steaming coffee, when Enjolras waddles out of bed sleepily. He doesn’t have to read it to know that it’s from Grantaire, and that it says <i>thank you for letting me stay the night</i>, because that’s what all the others say. </p><p>(Or, the one where Enjolras really wants Grantaire to feel at home in his apartment.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossed Wires

There is a note on his kitchen table, next to the pot of still steaming coffee, when Enjolras waddles out of bed sleepily. He doesn’t have to read it to know that it’s from Grantaire, and that it says _thank you for letting me stay the night_ , because that’s what all the others say. 

The first time it’d happened, Enjolras had smiled and pinned the post-it to the fridge with a magnet, still giddy over the fact that their relationship was going so well, that Grantaire had stayed over the entire night and nothing catastrophic had happened between them, but this is the fifteenth post-it he’s gotten from Grantaire. Grantaire has stayed the night at his place _fifteen_ times, and he still doesn’t feel comfortable enough to leave without tidying up Enjolras’ entire living room —or making him breakfast or coffee— and leaving him a note.

Enjolras spends just as many nights in Grantaire’s apartment as Grantaire does his, and at this point, he’s pretty sure most of his light-reading materials are in Grantaire’s living room, and he’s got enough clothes in Grantaire’s apartment to last him an entire week there. The only clothes that Grantaire has in Enjolras’ apartment are the clothes that Enjolras steals from Grantaire’s place a piece at a time.

He cranes his neck to look at his living room, trying to spot if Grantaire had left anything behind, the book he’d brought along last night, for example, or the highlighter he had tucked behind his ear when he arrived last night, but nope, the living room is spotless and entirely free from Grantaire’s things, as usual. It shouldn’t bother Enjolras, because he’s never liked it when people mess up his apartment, but he’s pretty sure he’s made it abundantly clear to Grantaire that he’s okay with Grantaire leaving his things around his apartment (well, okay, fine, he hasn’t really had the conversation with Grantaire, but it’s been heavily implied, and Grantaire should understand), and the fact that Grantaire isn’t doing it is unsettling. It’s almost as if Grantaire isn’t _comfortable_ in Enjolras’ apartment, at least not in the way Enjolras feels comfortable in Grantaire’s apartment, and by this point in their relationship, shouldn’t Grantaire already stop feeling like a guest in Enjolras’ home?

Proper communication, Combeferre would tell him, and he would be right, except Enjolras isn’t sure if being together for two months is still too early in a relationship to be asking Grantaire the _why don’t you feel comfortable in my apartment?_ questions. 

It’s not a big thing. Enjolras doesn’t have to make it a big thing. 

—

Grantaire yawns and tucks himself sleepily under Enjolras’ chin, fist curled around the edge of the oversized t-shirt Enjolras is wearing. “Is that mine?” Grantaire murmurs, before nosing against Enjolras’ shoulder. “Smells like your detergent.”

“I wore it back the last time, washed it together with my clothes,” Enjolras tells Grantaire. “Was going to return it to you, but I like wearing your shirt.”

He feels Grantaire’s lips stretch into a smile against his skin. “Keep it. It looks better on you.” He presses a kiss to Enjolras’ shoulder. “No, wait, I’ve changed my mind, I want it back. It smells nice, smells like you.”

Enjolras bites on his lip and ponders over his words. “If you used my detergent, all your clothes would smell like me,” he tells Grantaire, trying to keep his voice even. “I think I would like that. Your clothes smelling like mine,” he adds.

Grantaire makes a sleepy rumble, and curls himself closer to Enjolras. “Remind me to buy new detergent tomorrow, then.”

Enjolras barely refrains from making a noise of frustration. “You don’t have to buy new detergent,” he says. “I have plenty. You can do your laundry at my apartment.”

“Troublesome,” Grantaire mumbles. 

“You can give your laundry to me, and I’ll do it for you,” Enjolras says, because _ha_ , now Grantaire would have no excuse not to do it.

“You hate doing the laundry,” Grantaire says, huffing out a soft laugh. “More like you want me to come over and do your laundry for you. That’s sneaky, Apollo.” He stretches up to press a kiss to Enjolras’ lips. “You’re lucky I like your sneaky.”

“I would, though,” Enjolras says, pouting, because it’s obvious that Grantaire doesn’t believe him. “I would do your laundry for you if you brought it over to mine.”

“I’m not going to drag my laundry to your place to make you do it for me just so you can prove a point,” Grantaire says, rolling his eyes. There’s a hint of fond exasperation in his voice that makes Enjolras’ lips tip up in a corresponding smile. “You hate doing the laundry,” he reminds Enjolras, and he’s leaning on his elbows now, looking at Enjolras, warm and fond, and he presses his lips to Enjolras’ before Enjolras can reply.

(If he’d been given a chance to reply, he would’ve said, “I think I might love you enough to do your laundry.”)

—

“You should stay,” Enjolras tells Grantaire, settling back against Grantaire, letting Grantaire tangle their legs together and wrap his arm around Enjolras’ waist. 

“I thought that was what I was doing now,” Grantaire says.

“No,” Enjolras says, and he wants to turn over, to look at Grantaire and have this conversation face-to-face, but Grantaire’s body is warm against his back, and he’s still fuzzy from the afterglow, so he settles for tangling their fingers together, “I mean, stay for breakfast. You always make me breakfast at yours, I thought it’d be nice for me to return the favour.”

“You want to make breakfast for me?” Grantaire asks teasingly. “How fast is the fire department’s response time?”

Enjolras twists his head over slightly to scowl at Grantaire. “I’m pretty sure I can manage to fry some bacon and make some toast without burning the apartment down,” he tells Grantaire. 

“I’m sure you can,” Grantaire says, running his thumb over Enjolras’ knuckles. 

“So you’ll stay for breakfast?” Enjolras asks, hopeful. 

“Not this time,” Grantaire tells him quietly, and Enjolras is glad that they aren’t facing each other now because the way his face just falls is completely ridiculous. “I have an early shift at work tomorrow.”

“I could wake up early,” Enjolras says in a last-ditch attempt to convince Grantaire to stay, knowing before Grantaire says anything that it probably won’t work. 

“You hate waking up early,” Grantaire says. “It’ll throw you off and you’ll be grumpy the whole day. We have that meeting at the Musain tonight.”

And Grantaire makes sense, Enjolras _knows_ he makes sense, but the feeling of rejection he’s getting right now is a bit hard to bear. He tries to swallow it down anyway, because what they have now is good. Grantaire just apparently doesn’t like spending time in his apartment, it’s not a big thing, he doesn’t have to make a big thing out of nothing.

—

“Is that Grantaire’s sweater you’re wearing?” Courfeyrac asks, when Enjolras sits down at their usual table in the Musain. “Did you spend the night and forget to bring a change of clothes again?”

Enjolras shrugs. “I like wearing his clothes,” he tells Courfeyrac simply, because this isn’t something he’s ashamed of. Wearing Grantaire’s clothes make him feel that Grantaire is close even when he’s not, he loves that.

“Of course you do,” Courfeyrac says, grinning. “You’re a closet romantic who wants to do all the couple-y things like swap clothes and— Oh, wait. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Grantaire wearing any of your clothes.”

Enjolras doesn’t exactly tense up, but he does go very still. He hadn’t really noticed before, but Courfeyrac is right. He leaves so many of his clothes over at Grantaire’s place —hoodies, t-shirts, scarves, beanies— but he never sees Grantaire wearing any of them, not even when it’s just the both of them in Grantaire’s apartment. 

And oh, Enjolras was wrong about everything, Grantaire isn’t just uncomfortable in Enjolras’ apartment, he’s uncomfortable with dating Enjolras, isn’t it? That’s why he leaves Enjolras’ apartment as soon as he can without seeming dismissive and doesn’t treat Enjolras’ apartment like his own and never wears Enjolras’ clothes. It’s almost like he’s embarrassed—

“Oh no,” Courfeyrac says. “Oh no, oh no, I said something wrong, didn’t I? Oh fuck, I’m going to need to apologise to Grantaire, aren’t I?” 

“No,” Enjolras says, and winces when the word comes out harsher and sharper than he meant for it to. “No,” he says again, calmer, softer, “you’re not going to tell Grantaire about any of this.”

“Right,” Courfeyrac says. “But you are?”

Enjolras should. This doesn’t feel like it’s not a big thing anymore, but he doesn’t want to upset the balance they have now, because while not all the things are going the way he wants it to be, he’s happy to be in a relationship with Grantaire, and if he pushes Grantaire too hard, Grantaire might end up closing himself off, and Enjolras doesn't want that. 

So…

“No,” Enjolras says, jaw set, eyes hard. “We’re going to pretend this entire conversation never happened.” 

—

It continues.

Grantaire breaks a mug one night at his apartment and apologises profusely for it, even though Enjolras keeps telling him that it’s alright, it’s just a mug. He sneaks out in the middle of the night and goes to God knows where and gets him a mug to replace the one he broke. 

Enjolras finds the mug sitting on his kitchen table, two post-its pasted on it, one with the usual _thank you for letting me stay the night_ , and the other with _i’m sorry for breaking your mug again :(_. He barely resists the urge to bang his head on the kitchen table repeatedly. 

On another night, Grantaire trips on Enjolras’ carpet and spills wine over Enjolras’ cushion and Enjolras beams at the wine stain for a moment when Grantaire is busy trying to figure out how to best get it out of the cushion, and hopes that the wine stain will stay because at least that’ll be something _Grantaire_ in his apartment. He keeps telling himself that he’s not disappointed when Grantaire manages to get the stain completely out, but he knows himself well enough to know when he’s telling himself a lie.

—

 **From: Grantaire**  
Can I come over tonight after work? Heater in my apartment is busted. :( I’ll bring dinner! 

**To: Grantaire**  
You don’t have to ask.

 **To: Grantaire**  
You have a key for a reason.

 **To: Grantaire**  
Hint: it’s so you can let yourself into the apartment, even when I’m not around.

 **From: Grantaire**  
You’re just lazy and don’t want to get up to open the door for me. :P

—

“You know the notes you leave me in the morning?” Enjolras asks one night. Grantaire is propped up against the headboard, reading a book, while Enjolras finishes up some work. When Grantaire hums in acknowledgement, not looking up from his book, Enjolras continues, “I would like it if you stopped leaving them.”

His heart thuds loudly in his chest. He’d talked to Combeferre about this _thing_ between him and Grantaire and Combeferre had advised him to talk to Grantaire about it, but take small steps. Enjolras can do that, he can take small steps to talk to Grantaire about a problem.

Grantaire looks up from his book, stares at Enjolras for a long moment, as if he’s trying to work out why, and Enjolras really hopes that he comes to the same conclusion that Enjolras wants him to, which is for him to feel more at home in Enjolras’ apartment. “Okay,” he finally says.

Enjolras lets out a breath of relief, because now that Grantaire knows that Enjolras is uncomfortable with him being uncomfortable in Enjolras’ home, maybe he’ll relax a little and get used to leaving things all over and using his key when he comes unannounced, and it’ll be great.

—

It is, decidedly, not great at all. 

Because Enjolras realises the next day when he wakes up, fully expecting to see Grantaire still in bed with him (he knows for a fact that Grantaire isn’t due at work till 2 p.m. today), to find Grantaire already gone, that maybe Grantaire did not come to the conclusion he hoped Grantaire would come to. 

His belief is fuelled even further when Grantaire starts to _avoid_ him. He texts Enjolras to cancel on movie night on Thursday, and then again to tell Enjolras that he won’t be able to make it for dinner on Friday, and that he’s working on an urgent commission in the studio the whole of Saturday. 

Enjolras isn’t dumb; he knows that Grantaire is probably avoiding him because of what he said to him about leaving him post-its in the morning. He just can’t for the life of him understand why it would make Grantaire upset enough to want to avoid him? Is it not a good thing that Enjolras wants to make sure that Grantaire feels at home in Enjolras’ apartment? Is he doing something wrong? Has he not made abundantly clear that he _wants_ Grantaire to feel at home in his apartment and be comfortable with having him as a boyfriend?

He’s tried Combeferre’s _small steps_ tactic, and obviously it didn’t work out so well. It’s probably time he dealt with things the way he knows best — aggressive problem solving. 

He goes to Grantaire’s art studio. 

He finds Grantaire sitting in front of a canvas, frowning disapprovingly at it. When Grantaire sees him standing by the door, Enjolras notes that he doesn’t seem surprised, which means that he was probably anticipating that Enjolras would make a trip over here. 

“Do we have a problem?” Enjolras asks, because he needs to get all the facts down first before he tries to solve anything.

Grantaire looks down at his hands and sighs. “I don’t know, Apollo, you tell me.”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Enjolras says, “that’s why I’m asking. I’m rubbish at this, and I don’t really know where to start to be good at a relationship, but I’m willing to try if you tell me.”

“You can’t not know,” Grantaire says, insistent. “You were the one who—”

“Who what?” Enjolras prompts when Grantaire doesn’t appear to be finishing his sentence. “What did I do?”

“You told me to stop thanking you for inviting me over,” Grantaire says finally. “It felt a lot like you rescinding all your invitations to have me over.”

Enjolras stares at him for a long moment, because while he was pretty sure by Thursday morning that Grantaire hadn’t come to the conclusion Enjolras’d wanted him to come to from their conversation, he really isn’t expecting Grantaire to be so far off the mark. “ _What_.”

Grantaire shrugs. “It’s dumb,” he tells Enjolras, and rubs a hand over his face, “and I know that’s probably not what you meant, but I just— Don’t worry, I’ll get over it and stop being dumb in a few days.”

“That’s so far from what I meant,” Enjolras tells him. “I just didn’t want you to be so _polite_ when you’re over at my place. You’re not a guest, you _have your own key_. And every time you don’t use it, I feel like you’re not comfortable with me.”

“I thought the key was for emergencies,” Grantaire says, eyes snapping up to Enjolras’, “or for, I don’t know, when you lose your key and needed a spare or something. You gave it to me two weeks into dating me, what else was I supposed to think?”

“I— You— _Grantaire_ ,” Enjolras manages to get out. “I keep telling you to use the key—”

“I figured you were just being lazy.”

“You never wear my clothes,” Enjolras points out.

Grantaire blinks at him. “My shoulders are so much wider than yours, I would stretch out all your shirts.”

And _oh_ , Enjolras hadn’t considered that.

“You leave early every morning,” Enjolras says. “I thought you were just really uncomfortable with spending the mornings with me in my apartment.”

“I wake up early every morning, body clock,” Grantaire explains, “and I didn’t want to wake you because I figured you’d need all the sleep you can get. I thought you knew, fuck. I should’ve been clearer.”

“I also keep telling you that it’s okay for you to leave your things in my apartment but you never do?” Enjolras asks, the tight feeling in his chest loosening, because oh, he might’ve been misinterpreting the whole thing. 

“You have that _thing_ where you hate when people mess up your living room!” Grantaire says, flailing his arms a little, looking incredibly confused. “You bitched for so long about Feuilly folding paper cranes and leaving them all over your living room.”

With good reason, though, because it’d been 2500 paper cranes, 2500 _glittery_ paper cranes, because folding paper cranes calmed Feuilly down. 

“It’s different when it’s you!” Enjolras cries out. “I thought you knew that. You’re my boyfriend and I _want_ you to leave your things all over my apartment, to slot yourself into every empty crevice of my life. I want you _everywhere_.”

Grantaire smiles at that, and slides off his stool, making his way to Enjolras. “You should’ve said something.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was being a creepy, obsessive boyfriend,” Enjolras says, wrapping his arms around Grantaire, and nuzzling into Grantaire’s neck when he returns Enjolras’ embrace. It’s only been two days since the last time he saw Grantaire, but he’s missed him. “Is it really dumb that I really wanted you to feel at home in my apartment?”

“No, it’s not,” Grantaire says, and presses a kiss to his nose. “Is it really dumb that I really missed you?”

Enjolras lets his lips stretch into a smile. “If it is, we can both be dumb together.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here on tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


End file.
